It was the end of the afternoon, and the midday sun had just began to set. This was a good thing, because I was ready for a change from the steam and sweat that had marked the entirety of the previous hours since early dawn. The television continued it's blaring in the background with an endless stream of our cultures rather horrid side all day long, with about as much shame and modesty as a mother on her 12th paternity test can muster. I could be sure that this, combined with the frustrations of the day, would be condemn me, destined to be scarred for life, had it not been that I was already halfway to the end of anything that might be damaged. Bad days come and go, and alas, with the sun now going down and the drapes open, such subconscious violence could now be replaced with some fresh air, a good meal, a shower and a change, and then... nothing. I did not so much as want to finish this day, as to simply forget it. I had done nothing but sweat it away, scrambling on at menial tasks for even more a menial wage.....nothing, except for the hassle of it. It's not usually a big deal, for days like this happen all the time as a small, service based business owner. Getting stiffed on an account that you had slaved over meticulously is one thing, but to have the misfortune of 2 thieving bastards passing through my digital office doors sharing the same calendar box was almost unbearable. Staged fistfights with swearing commentary being the subliminal backdrop soundtrack for hours hadn't helped my psyche either. I raged inside at the affront, but was too exhausted from trying the please the ungrateful that I just wanted it to end. I no longer cared. "All of them, the forum fisters, the newbie ebook hustlers, even the honest competition and network partners and overly kind clients that I usually work with every day, could just go to HEll!!!" Contrary to my very cry, I decided to check my PMs, one of those end of the day bull***t habits that us freelancers rely on to pay the bills, for there would be no overnighters without them (We are such sadists). Before I could even leave the DP homepage, I saw it. It commanded attention. A lump formed in my throat as I quickly remembered my last statement and the unmistakable corollary. This could just could not be happening. I did not know whether to unplug everything in the house and hide in the closet, or scream out in jubilation as as my prayers had been answered. I refreshed the screen to see if I was seeing things. But it was true. I had been left behind in the electronic rapture as a result of my curse! I am not sure if anyone else has ever experienced, or even noticed this if they have, but at that moment it was just odd enough to catch my attention, and for one moment feel like I was all alone. Even though this is an exact answer to my uttered words, a feeling of eeriness crept over me. A DP ghost town is a lonely place, and the urge to delve into the mail of souls now gone seemed counter-purpose. I looked away, caught my breathe, and got up to turn off the squawking boob tube behind me that had been giving me a headache since mid-morning. For a minute, I even forgot about the weasels and the cons that so filled my thoughts with anguish just minutes earlier. In silence I sat, finally away from it all, alone, with no worries. I finally arose from oblivion and abandon, as well as my chair, and made myself a nice Alfredo pasta and then helped myself to a soothing shower. As the pulsing water cascaded over the nape of my neck like a well trained masseuse, my mind began to wander, not into the black of beyond, but to flashes of colorful creation and to an as yet to be expressed desire to display them. I slowly turned off the tap, watching the water recede away as if it were saying goodbye for now, though not willingly. I stepped out of the tub, and holding the towel to my face in a half smothering, half embracing press, I realized that I had no choice as to what I had to do, my path was set in stone long ago. I am a writer, an as insignificant as it may seem, I had a story to tell. The readers, paying or not, will be there, unless you no longer want them. There are those who will read what you write, and that, even in the face of poverty, gives your chosen profession meaning, and possibility. So, now less bitter, even hopefully for the evening left, I returned. As if I had returned from that place that defies all description, I was refreshed to see the real world upon my return. Thank you DP members for allowing me to write for you. I hope you enjoyed the story, verbose as it may be. *From consistent disconnects to the glitches above, DP is never "technically" dull. Please don't doubt my sanity. I just had to write something that was not assigned, had to be checked for density, researched, or copyscaped. I hope you approve.